Lone Star Slayer: Texas
by ShadowsOnTheMoon
Summary: Set after The Gift. Part one of a three part series. With Buffy dead, a new Slayer is called. A born-and-bred country girl, Lex finds herself sucked into the world of the supernatural, called upon to take over a responsibility she is in no way ready for. Will she rise to meet the call? Can she ever fill the gap left by the legendary Buffy?
1. Watcher

"Uh huh."

I look at the guy in front of me. He's only a couple of inches taller than I am, but from the way he stands I can tell he's used to being in charge. His suit, though clean, is slightly crinkled, like he's had to put it on in a hurry or like he doesn't wear it much. And he's looking at me like he's waiting for a more detailed response. I pull the saddle off of Buttermilk, the sorrel mare who's standing beside me, and start taking it up to the tack room. The guy follows me, his boots kicking up tiny clouds of dust.

"So you're telling me," I say, dumping the saddle in the shed and draping a lead rope over my shoulder, "that this girl from – where did you say again?"

"Sunnydale," the man supplies.

"Right, Sunnydale." We head back down to the yard and I clip the lead rope onto Buttermilk's halter, simultaneously pulling her bridle off and resting it on the fence. As I lead her down to the lower field, the guy following me the whole time, I keep talking. "So this girl from Sunnydale dies, and for some reason that means I have to become some kind of – what, superhero?"

"Slayer," he says. "The term is Slayer. And it's not something you're expected to become. It's something you already _are_."

"Sure," I say, unclipping the lead rope and slapping Buttermilk on the rump. She trots off and I turn back to him. "So I'm supposed to be this _Slayer_. Which would mean giving up on everything I've ever wanted, everything I have, so I can save the world from evil – evil which, by the way, I'm still not entirely convinced actually exists. Is that about the size of it?"

"It's more complicated than that, miss."

"Isn't it always?"

I've finished my chores for now, and all I want is just to go and have a nice warm bath and forget this conversation. But this guy doesn't seem to want to leave me alone – when I leave the yard he follows, so that we reach the main building together.

"Listen, Amber -"

I interrupt. "Lex."

"Pardon me?"

"My name is Lex," I tell him. "That's what I prefer to be called, anyway."

"I see." He delicately pulls a piece of horse hair from his suit. "I'm sorry."

"What's your name, anyway?" I ask. As I wait for his response I open the door and gesture for him to go inside. "I was a little distracted by the whole 'monsters are real' thing."

"Hunter," he answers, sitting down. "Marcus Hunter. From the -"

"Watchers Council. Yeah, I know."

The room we've walked into is big; almost as big as the yard we've just left. There's a long mahogany table running down the far half of it, with wooden chairs lining the sides and a couple of vases of wilting flowers along its length. The half of the room closest to us is more recreational than practical. There are a few soft chairs arranged around a low table, which still has the remains of the puzzle we were working on last night. Off to one side is a small bookcase with some stacks of books and magazines, all of which I've read several times. Hunter sits down on one of the soft chairs and starts flipping through some celebrity magazine. I sit down across from him and rest my head in my hands, hoping that when I open my eyes he'll be gone.

"So, Lex." Hunter sets the magazine aside and turns his attention back to me. "I'm here on behalf of the Council. They're waiting to hear back about how this meeting went today. I would like to be able to tell them that it went well, but I have a feeling I won't be able to. Can I at least tell them that I took you to your first vampire?"

"You could, but I bet the Council doesn't approve of lying."

He continues as if I hadn't spoken. "There have been sightings of a vampire in the woods near here. It's a fair distance away, but I'd imagine that wouldn't be a problem for you. I would like to take you there tonight, give you a chance to test your skills."

I weigh the options in my mind, and then I meet his eyes. "You know how to ride?"

* * *

Despite his assurances that he can ride, Hunter doesn't seem all that confident around horses. About an hour after it gets dark he comes back to the house, and my dad, assuming he's a friend of one of the wranglers, invites him to dinner. After some awkward silence and even more awkward smalltalk, I tell Dad we're going for a ride. As long as we're back by nine, he tells me, that's not a problem.

So I take Hunter down to the stables and set him up with a horse. At first I'd intended to put him on Bolt, the big black gelding, but when I see that he's not as confident as I'd anticipated I put him on Buttermilk, who's a lot calmer. I saddle up Ghost, my gray mare, and mount up, looking back to see Hunter pulling himself into the saddle with as much grace as a lopsided roadrunner.

"You ready to go?" I ask, steering Ghost towards the gate.

Hunter nods and follows me through. Out on the trail I start feeling a bit better; I was raised on a ranch, and I'm pretty sure I learned to ride before I could walk, so it feels natural to me. I've had Ghost for about three years now, and we know each other pretty well. Aside from her tendency to spook at jackrabbits and her deep-seated fear of rattlers, she's a good horse. Once the homestead slips out of sight behind us I pull Ghost up and turn to Hunter.

"Where did you say the sightings have been?" I ask.

"It's a spot called Deadman's Reach. It should be -"

"I know where it is," I cut him off. "Are you up for a jog?"

Without waiting for an answer I give Ghost a kick and we start jogging. I hear Hunter behind me, so I don't bother to look back. I make sure to keep a healthy distance between us, although I'm fairly certain that if it came to a chase I'd be able to lose him pretty quick. A horseman he's not. I still have my doubts about this whole situation, and more questions than I even want to consider. My curiosity gets the best of me and I start talking.

"So this girl from Sunnydale," I call over my shoulder, "she was a Slayer too?"

"That's right," Hunter calls back. "Her name was -"

"I don't want to know her name. She's dead, what does it matter?" That's only part of the reason I don't want to hear it. To know her name would make her more real, and would mean that I'd feel something for her – I already feel a slight twinge, like being a Slayer (if that's what I am) somehow makes me connected to her.

"I suppose." There's some scuffling as he loses a stirrup. When he gets it back he goes on, "She died about a fortnight ago, fighting a hellgod. She managed to avert the apocalypse, but it was too late for her."

"How long was she a Slayer before that?"

"Six years, more or less."

"How does that compare to other Slayers' life expectancies?" He's silent for so long that I hesitantly prompt, "Hunter?"

"It's rather above average, I'm afraid."

The news sinks in slowly, and then I'm torn between laughter and tears. If he's lying or joking or insane, this is the most amusing thing that's ever happened to me. If he's telling the truth, he's effectively given me a death sentence.

We fall into silence.

"Deadman's Reach is about a mile and half up this way," I tell him after a while. "If we turn left up here we can -"

Something catches my eye. It's a flash off to my right, something between the trees. I pull back on the reins and we slow to a walk.

"Your stake," Hunter whispers to me, "grab your stake. And for goodness' sake tell me how to stop my horse!"

"Pull back on the reins," I tell him, pulling the pointed piece of wood from my saddle bag. I feel pretty stupid holding it up and squinting into the night, but a second later I'm glad I have it.

The something becomes a solid shape, and my first thought is that it's human.

"Vampire," Hunter says in answer to my unspoken question. "Soon you'll be able to sense them too."

"Uh-huh," I say quietly, nudging Ghost forward. "And until then?"

"Until then you just have to learn to kill them."

The moment he's finished speaking, as if waiting for a cue, the vampire bursts from the bushes and flings itself at me, knocking me off Ghost and slamming me into the ground. On impact I lost both my breath and the stake, and all I can focus on is the vampire's face, almost human yet weirdly disfigured, only inches from my own face. Dimly I become aware of Hunter shouting orders and suggestions at me.

"Push him off," he's saying, "grab your stake."

"You mean this stake?" the vampire asks, snatching it up and twirling it in his fingers.

I get the sense that he doesn't want to kill me right away. For whatever reason he's holding off, taunting me. If I were stronger or smarter I'd be able to get out of this, but all I can do right now is turn my head away and pray that he'll kill me quick.

Suddenly he's wrenched off me, and I look up to see Hunter standing over me, offering a hand. I let him help me to my feet, and then we back away a few paces. The vampire is already regrouping, getting to his feet and watching us warily.

"So you weren't lying about that vampire thing, huh?" I ask Hunter with that nervous, I'm-about-to-die laugh.

"I wasn't lying about any of it."

"Right." He hands me a stake and I take it, clenching my fist around it like it's a lifeline. "So that means I have a shot at killing him, doesn't it?"

"You have more than a shot," Hunter says. "You have a duty."

Stake in hand, I take a step forward. The vampire steps back.

"Duty?" he says, raising an eyebrow. "Who's he, your Watcher?"

Then he laughs like he made a good joke.

"Actually, yes."

That stops him. He narrows his eyes as he looks at us. "But that would make you a Slayer. And the Slayer ain't dead yet."

"But you are."

The retort doesn't make much sense, but it's better than nothing. Making a note to ask Hunter what the vampire meant, I turn my attention towards killing it. It turns out that even though slaying is supposed to come easily to me, it's still not a walk in the park. We circle each other for a minute. He seems strong, confident, experienced. I feel like a schoolgirl playing dress-ups, and I have a horrible feeling that he's going to kill me. Even with Hunter there I still hardly stand a chance.

But to my surprise when the vampire makes his move I quickly counter his strike and land a kick to his ribs, which makes him stumble backwards. Encouraged by my success, I follow up by punching him in the face and swinging back with my elbow. I hit his nose, which cracks. For a second I bask in my success, but it's a second too long. He recovers quickly and grabs my shoulders, pulling me in closer and showing his fangs.

I manage to pull away, but not before he sinks his fangs into me. It's the most painful experience of my life, although it only lasts a few seconds. Adding 'vampire bite' to my list of Top Ten Worst Ways to Die, I kick him in the stomach and watch him go flying, coming to a sudden stop against a nearby tree trunk. There's a branch poking out of his chest; somehow I've managed to impale him on it.

"Shouldn't that kill him?" I ask Hunter, perplexed.

"You have to get the heart," he replies.

"Right."

The vampire hasn't quite managed to pull himself off the branch, but he does just as I reach him. I let out a grunt as his fist connects with my face. I've only been punched a couple times before this, and it feels about the same. Hunter mentioned that vampires are super strong, so I guess being a Slayer balances it out. I wonder what it will feel like to be punched by a regular person now.

Then I realise how ridiculous it is to be thinking about these things, especially right now, and I pay for my inattention when the vampire hits me again. Until now I've been running on fear and adrenaline, but this strikes something else in me: purpose. Is this what being a Slayer feels like?

Everything just seems to fall into place after that. Strength surges through me and I use it to propel myself over the vampire, landing behind him and using that split-second advantage to whirl him around and toss him to the ground. I'm on top of him in a second, and in less than that I've plunged my stake into his heart, and suddenly he's not there anymore. I'm crouched on a pile of ash. I stand up, dusting the ash off of my jeans.

"What was that?" I ask Hunter, who's holding the horses. He raises an eyebrow.

"In Slayer terms, I believe it's colloquially calling 'dusting'," he explains. "When a vampire dies he turns to ash or dust. It makes cleaning up after a kill very easy. Unfortunately most demons do not simply 'dust'."

"I see."

"So," he says, handing me Ghost's reins, "that was your first vampire. What are you thinking?"

I feel faint, a little shaky, and still quite confused. A thousand things are running through my head. I still have so many questions and doubts that they're jumbled into one big mess.

But I reply, as I mount up and start moving, "That was way cool."


	2. Slayer

"No way."

"Lex, I think -"

"Not to be disrespectful, but I don't really care what you think."

We're standing in the yard after our ride. I'm untacking the horses while Hunter tries to look busy, and he's just asked me to move to California.

Sure, I never intended to stay in Texas my whole life, but I'm not ready to leave yet. I've got school, friends, a whole life here. And now this English guy is telling me I have a destiny somewhere else, so I should just pack up and ship out. I'm still trying to rationalise the whole vampire thing; I'm not sure whether it would be easier if vampires did or didn't exist. Any more information or choices and I'm pretty sure my brain will explode.

"And I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I have been assigned as your Watcher and therefore you _will_ listen to me."

He's getting huffy, which for some reason amuses me. I toss Hunter a curry comb and start brushing Ghost, watching as he cautiously does the same to Buttermilk. He keeps one eye on me at first, but when Buttermilk nudges his shoulder he turns his full attention to her.

"You're not my Watcher, whatever that is," I say. "I haven't agreed to work for this Council of yours. I haven't even agreed to be a Slayer -"

"Not _a_ Slayer. _The_ Slayer. And it's not something you agree to. It's something you are."

"What if I don't want to be? What if I just want to be a normal teenager?"

"You can't ignore your calling," he says, seeming confused by my reluctance to grab a stake and start saving the world at once. "It is both your duty and your destiny. Sunnydale is situated on a Hellmouth, and it is currently without a guardian. The Slayer is dead -"

"Is she?" I ask, remembering. "That vampire back there said she wasn't."

Hunter stops brushing Buttermilk and looks at me. "The situation in Sunnydale is – well, it's complicated. Without a guardian the Hellmouth is vulnerable to exploitation, which puts a lot of people in danger."

"Which is why you want me there. I get that. But what happened to the other Slayer?"

"She died, like I said." He seems more regretful than sad. I wonder if he was the other Slayer's Watcher. "But she left behind a circle of friends. They perpetuated the myth that she is still alive. I believe the setup involves a robot of some sort, in an effort to trick local demons and vampires into thinking that the Slayer is still there. And until you get there, this will continue."

"And then what?" I ask. "Suppose for a second I go to Sunnydale. What will I do? Slot myself into her old group, take her place?"

"If you wish," he says, "although most Slayers work alone. So if you would prefer to work by yourself, then I suppose that group would carry on without you."

Ghost's coat is the cleanest it's been in weeks, but I keep on brushing her just to give my hands something to do. Their repetitive motion quietens the chaos in my mind a little.

"What you're asking me to do," I say softly, "it's big. It's real big. I'm not sure I could do it, even if I am who you say I am."

For the first time, Hunter is sympathetic. "I know it's a lot to ask," he says. "But you were chosen to be the new Slayer, and that gives you an enormous responsibility, more than most people can handle. The forces of darkness are growing, and you are one of few champions of goodness. Whether you like it or not, you're a part of this now. You're needed to fight the good fight."

"And save the world?" I say, half-mocking and half-terrified.

"To put it simply, yes."

We finish brushing the horses and I take them to the stable, Hunter trailing along behind me. I don't say anything until we're on our way back to the main building. We're picking our way carefully across the rocky slope, but I can't help thinking that maybe it would be easier if I did lose my step. A broken arm is something I can deal with. Vampires, Slaying, Watchers and Councils and Sunnydale and Hellmouths – that I can't deal with. It's too much.

"There is a place you can go," Hunter says as we reach the main building. "It's on the way to Sunnydale. There you can meet someone who I think will be able to help."

"Who is it?"

"He's a friend of – he was a friend of the Slayer, which makes him your ally. He's a champion, just like you. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you stayed with him for a few days – no obligations, no questions asked. He could help you understand what it means to be a Slayer."

"Where is he?" This option is better than heading straight to Sunnydale, but I'm still not exactly thrilled about it.

"He runs a business in Los Angeles."

"Maybe I could do a weekend in LA," I concede. "But I still don't think it'll be enough to convince me to move to California."

"But it's a start."

We sit down at the table and start making arrangements. Three weekends from now I'm going to fly to LA, using money saved up from birthdays and odd jobs around the house. My dad is surprisingly relaxed about the idea, although that may be because I come up with an elaborate lie about some friends I'm staying with there. I feel bad lying to him, but it's easier than telling the truth. Maybe someday I'll have to tell him – if I end up moving to California, for example – but for now he's safer in his ignorance. As long as no one knows I'm the Slayer he should be safe; Hunter's already told me a couple of stories about the old Slayer's family and friends being targeted by those who were after her, so I'm determined to do everything I can to avoid that.

I'm going to spend two days in LA at a place called Angel Investigations. Apparently Angel is some kind of supernatural private investigator who had ties to the old Slayer. Hunter's given me the number of the business, so I'm going to call them in a couple of days and organise transport from the airport. My head is spinning, and the logical part of my brain is telling me that this is insane, but I force myself to focus on facts – flight times, prices, airlines. Hunter explains that he's going back to England to meet with the Council, so he won't be in LA with me. But he'll be around for the next two weeks, and then after I get back, so we can discuss my training and my future and scary things like that.

He keeps congratulating me on dusting my first vampire, telling me that Sunnydale needs me, and assuring me that I'm going to be a brilliant Slayer. But whenever he says that word – _Slayer_ – I think another word. Kill. I'm going to have to spend my life killing vampires, until I'm killed. The small consolation is that I'll probably get killed pretty quick.

"Thank you for meeting with me," Hunter says as he stands up to leave.

I stand up too, but I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do. Am I meant to hug him? Shake his hand? So I settle for saying, "No problem. I'll see you in a couple of days."

Once he's gone I lean back in the chair, closing my eyes and trying not to think. This works for about two seconds, and then I'm hit by a barrage of thoughts. Everything that's happened today flashes through my mind, and I just sit there and try not to cry.

* * *

My first training session with Hunter is a disaster.

He's disappointed that I don't know any martial arts, maintains that horseback riding isn't a useful skill, and ends up hitting me in the face with a stake because I don't catch it fast enough.

After we've finished I sit on an old bench and rest my head in my hands.

"Terribly sorry about that stake thing," Hunter says yet again, leaning against a nearby tree.

"It was my bad," I tell him. "Should've moved quicker."

"Your reflexes will improve with time and training," he says, and I almost feel comforted. Then he adds, "I hope."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

We continue training every couple of days, moving from the classic stake up to the more complicated crossbow. He lets me try out a couple of swords – none of the more powerful or valuable ones – and even offers to teach me how to use a gun. At that point I have to politely explain that I've been shooting jackrabbits for years. He doesn't believe me, but after he hands me a shotgun and I hit a mark on a tree fifty yards away he just nods in approval.

A few days after I first meet Hunter, I call the number he gave me for the place in LA. I'm expecting Angel to pick up, so I'm surprised when a female answers.

"Angel Investigations, we help the helpless, how may we help you?"

"I'm not helpless."

It's the first thing I think of, and it results in a moment of silence.

"Well. Can we help you anyway?" She sounds tired and distracted, and I suddenly feel bad for bothering her.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I guess I caught you at a bad time."

"It's always a bad time," she mutters, and I hear something crash in the background. Then she takes a deep breath and seems to make an effort to be more cheerful. "Anyway. I'm Cordelia, Angel's associate. What can I do for you?"

"My name's Lex," I say. "I'm – Hunter said to call."

"Hunter, Hunter." She thinks for a moment. "Oh! The Watcher guy! So that would make you -"

"The new Slayer, yes."

"Well hi!" Cordelia says. "Angel said you might be coming around. Do you have any more definite plans?"

I tell her when and where my flight gets in, and she promises to pick me up from the airport.

"And listen," she goes on, "when you're here, just be – well, be sensitive I guess."

"Sensitive?"

"Angel and Buffy – they used to have a thing. Big time. He's taking her death pretty hard. I mean, we all are, but he's… well, he's kind of broken."

"Buffy?" I echo, my heart sinking. "Was she… the Slayer before me?"

"Yeah. Didn't Hunter tell you?"

"No, he didn't."

I leave out the fact that I'd asked him not to tell me.

"She and I were friends in high school. Not like super-best-friends or anything, but we knew each other. Since you're the new Slayer and all I can tell you about her if you want."

"I – maybe some other time."

"No problemo," she says. "Now, I should probably go help with this case, but thanks for calling. I'll see you in a couple weeks."

After I hang up I go outside to find Hunter leaning against the fence, gently stroking Buttermilk's face.

"We've got an understanding," he says, without looking up. "I think we're rather starting to like each other."

I pull myself up onto the top rung of the fence and sit down, swinging my legs a little and watching a spider creep along the ground beneath me. It's a long time before either of us speaks again.

"Was she good?" I ask at last.

Hunter stops petting Buttermilk and looks at me. Unable to meet his eyes, I grab a tuft of the horse's hair and start braiding it just to give me something to do.

"Who?"

"Buffy."

It's the first time I've said the name, and for some reason it makes me unbearably sad. I wonder if every Slayer feels this way about their predecessor.

Hunter considers the question, and then he says, "She was very good."

"But she still died."

"Yes."

Rather than ask what I'm thinking, I focus on something else.

"I called Angel Investigations," I tell him. "Somebody named Cordelia answered. She's going to pick me up from the airport when I get to LA."

"You'll be in good hands there. Angel and his team may be a bit unorthodox, but they mean well. And they've proven that they can get the job done. They can keep you safe, teach you a thing or two about being the Slayer."

"Are you sure I am?"

"Pardon me?"

"Are you sure I'm the Slayer?" I press. "Couldn't you have made a mistake? Maybe the Slayer's someone else. Maybe I'm not who you think I am."

He doesn't give me a direct answer. "How did you feel when you were fighting that vampire?"

The question catches me off-guard, and I think for a couple minutes before answering. I finish the braid in Buttermilk's mane and let it fall back into place. Then I look up and meet Hunter's eyes. My heart feels uncomfortably heavy and yet oddly light.

"I felt like I'd finally found my purpose."


End file.
